“That would be extraordinary. Which is why this situation seems incomprehensible. But if it’s not true, why would you have this girl stalked around the clock? Why do you continue to seek her out?”
“We’ve been through this before. The girl is nothing but an unexplained anomaly. A breathing painkiller, which is the only reason I’m so-called interested in her. There’s nothing else to it.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
My hand slips into my pocket, fingers curling around the plastic wrap. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Alright. Let’s get back to this rhymey fellow of yours. He sounds interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because he pisses you off.” Doc grins. “Considering everything he seems to know about you, it stands to reason that this individual is someone close to you. How come it’s taking you so long to find out who he is? You’ve got unlimited funds and manpower at your disposal, so how hard could it be?”
“The bastard uses burner phones. A new one each time. All Brahms managed to find out was that each text was sent from the Boston area. Since the asshole never accesses the network with the same phone twice, he’s untraceable.”
“Clever. And what about the business information he keeps getting his hands on? Isn’t there some protocol you could implement across your companies that would help track him down? Stem the leaks as soon as they happen?”
“That crap is too random. It’s only after shit happens that we trace it back to a breach. And, sometimes, he sends a threat but sits on it for weeks. Plus, with only Brahms knowing about this poetic motherfucker, it’s hardly a simple thing to solve.”
Bartholomew’s bushy eyebrows jump toward his hairline. “He’s the only one you trusted with that?”
“He is the only one Iinformedabout the issue,” I correct. “I don’t trust people.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot about that little detail. Is that why you still won’t hire a personal chef and would rather eat out?”
“I’m not worried about being poisoned, Barty. I just don’t like the idea of someone thinking they know me well enough to anticipate how I will like my eggs.”
“You think that will make you more human in their eyes?”
“It doesn’t hurt to cover all the bases.”
Ding-Dong!
The old-fashioned bell over the main store entrance rings, announcing the arrival of a new customer.
“Be right with you!” I shout while trying to shove a box of screws onto the upper shelf.
The deliveries usually come in the mornings, and Walter, the owner, has the inventory all sorted before I clock in. But today, the truck was late. Arriving barely an hour before closing.
“Just give me another minute! Feel free to look around!” I holler again, still messing with the box of screws above my head.
My shifts at the hardware store are typically slow. Most customers wait for the weekend to tackle home projects. My hours are usually filled with straightening out the merchandiseshelves, light restocking, and, on occasion, helping out the odd customer who happens to stop by. More often than not, I end up entertaining one or two old guys from the neighborhood. They like to pop in and chat, telling me about the “good old days.”
As I’m desperately trying to push the box that’s getting heavier by the second into place, footsteps echo at the front, where the customer must be checking out the aisles. Whoever it is, I’m sure they can handle themselves for a minute more. Because the stupid …Push… box …Push… won’t move.
Shoot. Something must have gotten stuck behind it. I set the box down on the floor, then pull over a couple of small packages of vinyl tile Walter will need to move to the right place tomorrow. Stacking one on top of the other, I make an improvised stool that’s about a foot high. Climbing onto it, I can see toward the back of the shelf where I’ve been trying to shove the box of screws. And I find a literal monkey wrench jammed against the far wall, impeding my progress.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I mumble, snatching the wrench out of the way, as those footsteps get closer. “Sorry about that. I just had to—”
The excuse dies on my tongue the moment I turn around. I was hoping it was Mr. Martinez. He loves dropping by at the end of my shift to tell me the latest on the litter of kittens he discovered in his attic.
Well, it’s not.
“Mr. Ruffo,” I choke out, not really believing my eyes. With me standing a foot off the ground, our faces are nearly at the same level. Seeing his glacial pools up close like this is even more unsettling than usual.
A swarm of those pesky butterflies takes flight inside my stomach, rising and swirling as if caught in an endless eddy.Ruffo was over at the don’s twice last week, so I should be somewhat used to seeing him by now. But never in a million years had I expected him to be in my hardware store.
“Good evening, sir. How…how can I help you?”
